


London Particular

by Scruggzi



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, pff, phracking and sandwiches, reunion smut, slightly late
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 09:06:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12295938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: Fluffy phrack reunion smut with a side of banter.





	London Particular

The London fog was thick and filthy with soot, a ‘London particular’, the cabbie informed him when Jack eventually managed to flag one down. The man seemed to consider himself as much a tourist guide and generalised local history expert as a cab driver, and he rattled off colourful – and in all likelihood apocryphal – histories for all the passing landmarks, rendered invisible behind the grimy, yellow-brown miasma that clogged the city streets.

“What brings you to London then, guv?” he asked, as these stories failed to elicit more than an acknowledging grunt from his fare.

“Police business.” The Inspector responded, and if a smile flickered in his eyes at the statement, the night was too dark for the other man to see it.

“Sounds like someone’s in trouble.” He tried to keep his voice jovial, but it occurred to the man behind the wheel that he would not like to be involved in the kind of police business that could bring the unsmiling gentleman behind him thousands of miles across an ocean.

“Yes, you could say that,” Jack cleared his throat against the fumes creeping in through the closed windows of the cab, “I doubt there’s any saving him at this point.”

He didn’t elaborate and they passed the rest of the journey to Mayfair in silence. Jack left the cab, along with the small case he had kept with him on the back seat, tipping his hat and the driver before advancing up the stairs to the Fisher family residence. Hat now in hand, heart, though no outside observer would have guessed it, on his sleeve.

***

Phryne was bored. More than bored, she was listless; the ugly yellow fog damping her normally irrepressible spirits. She kept toying with things, picking up books only to discard them, playing records halfway through before changing them. This was not like her. When the world was unacceptably dull, she bloody well went out and found some excitement. She rose decisively from the chaise, where she had been reclining, wrapped in a thick silk robe and a blanket to keep out the winter chill. She had plenty of friends in London to distract her, she would investigate and see who was available. After all it wasn’t like she was pining. Phryne Fisher did not, under any circumstances, pine.

‘Come after me’ she had said. An impulsive offer, as much a dare as an invitation, she hadn’t really thought it through, there hadn’t been time. All she knew in that moment, when she saw Jack running to her through the dry grass of the airfield, was that she wanted him by her side, and thanks to her good for nothing father, there was no more space in the damned plane. She never really imagined that he’d actually do it, then again, it wasn’t the first time he’d managed to surprise her.

There had been an exchange of letters and telegrams, culminating in one, the details of which were somewhat hazy with whiskey, in which she was sure she put forward some excellent ideas for convincing Russel St to give him extended leave. To her great surprise he appeared to have taken her at her word. Unfortunately, the weather had not been especially kind and there had been delays. He would be here soon, she hoped, but lacking specifics left her in an unpleasant limbo, unwilling to distract herself with the other opportunities for companionship London offered whilst things were so uncertain between them. Especially given the likelihood that Jack would turn up at precisely the moment she did, they did after all have a history of truly appalling timing. It was ridiculous really, all this melancholy over a man. She needed to get a grip on herself.

There was a knock at the parlour door. Jenkins the butler appeared, his bald head sticking up out of a ring of tufty grey hair, like a great shiny egg in a feathered nest.

“A visitor, miss.” His wheezy voice was slightly disapproving, as if the visitor was not entirely to his liking. “He requested that I tell you that an ‘old friend’ would like to see you.”

Jenkins passed her a calling card, white with a plain black boarder and a coat of arms in the centre. She had another just like it. A slow smile spread across her face and seemed to keep travelling, filling her with a sparkling, effervescent energy.

“Send him up Jenkins,” she paused, “did he have a case with him?”

“He did, miss.” The air of disapproval was stronger but Phryne elected to ignore it. She didn’t care a jot for the man’s good opinion and she now had much more interesting things on her mind.

“Then take it up to my room for him please.” She smiled to herself as she said it. Jack could argue with her on that subject later if he chose to, but Phryne had a number of arguments in her favour which, if they didn’t persuade, would at least make her Inspector blush. A delightful prospect.

“Very good, Miss.” He said, sounding as if he thought it was anything but. Nevertheless he exited the room, apparently intending to send Jack up to her and that was the important thing, odds were he would put Jack’s luggage in one of the guest rooms out of spite, but they could deal with that problem when they came to it.

Phryne sashayed over to the fireplace, smoothing her hair in the mirror set above it. She was dressed for bed in silk pyjamas, her face free from make-up; it would do, she decided. Less was often more when it came to flustering Jack, and she intended to fluster him very thoroughly as a well earned reward for coming all this way.

She moved to the drinks trolley and poured two large glasses of whiskey, setting one down on the table by the chaise and taking a sip from the other. She was not, _in any way_ , nervous. Phryne Fisher did not get nervous at the prospect of taking a man to her bed. She heard footsteps approach along the hall, two sets. She turned to the door with her most charming smile, although underneath it her heart was racing unacceptably fast and her stomach was lurching as if she had just hit a pocket of heavy turbulence.

The door creaked open revealing Jenkins, who announced “Mr Robinson to see you Miss,” because of course he was not a Detective Inspector here. Jack was standing just behind the butler, trying not to let the maelstrom of emotion churning inside him show on his face and feeling oddly vulnerable without the armour of institutional authority around him. He was not used to being a ‘Mr’.

The smile that lit up Phryne’s face at the sound of his name was as inexorable as a sunrise. She had fully intended to begin by teasing him, perhaps some comment about his late arrival, accompanied by the suggestion that this could be best explained if he had driven from Australia. But then she saw him - saw the clench of his jaw and the terror and excitement in his eyes, saw his face melt into a broad, unaffected smile at the sight of her - and all that came out was _“Jack,”_ softly, almost a whisper.

Between the delays, the intermittent correspondence and not least the total unpredictability of Phryne herself, Jack had no idea on walking up to her front door, what he was letting himself in for. He half expected to find her in the arms of some dashing polar explorer, or else to be absent entirely having decamped spontaneously for darkest Peru. He had tried to prepare himself, wanted to hold himself with some measure of dignity whatever she had in store for him, but somehow in all the wonderful and disastrous scenarios his head had conjured up between here and Southampton dock, (not to mention the long weeks at sea), he found himself completely unprepared and overwhelmed by what he found: Phryne Fisher, gazing at him with sparkling eyes, as if the whole world had just walked into her snug little parlour off of the grubby streets.      

“Phryne,” if Jenkins gave a sniff at his familiar tone and the lack of appreciation for the social niceties, the assembled detectives were not listening.

In fact familiar was hardly the right word, he said her name as if it coated his tongue like some exquisite delicacy, slowly, savouring the taste of it as it left his mouth. That was the last straw for Phryne, her whiskey glass hit the side table with a clatter and without pausing for another breath she was in his arms, her lips on his, demanding his unconditional surrender. He did not put up a fight. His hand cupped the back of Phryne’s head as her tongue swept into his mouth in a wordless promise of filthy things to come.

There was a polite cough, causing them to spring apart. Neither of them had realised that Jenkins was still standing by the open door.

“Will that be all miss?” his disapproval of the situation was now palpable.

“Yes, thank you Jenkins. I’ll ring the bell if we require anything else.” Phryne felt she should have been irritated by the man’s rudeness, but she was still looking at Jack who had dropped his eyes and was obviously fighting down a laugh. Irritation under such circumstances was clearly impossible.

Once the disgruntled servant had made his exit, shutting the door behind him and finally leaving them alone, Jack met her eyes again, this time with his trademark sardonic smirk.

“Not quite up to Mr Butler’s standards of discretion.” He noted with amusement.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Jack knew he should have been mortified, his behaviour was hardly appropriate, especially in Phryne’s parent’s house. But his hand was at her waist and he was enveloped in her scent and she was pressing herself to him as if, after so long apart, any tiny distance between them was too great, and he couldn’t quite remember why he was supposed to care.

Phryne rolled her eyes. “Don’t take it personally, Jack. He’s never approved of me. Dotes on mother of course.”

“What a relief, I’d hate to think I’d made a bad impression.”

“I don’t think you need to worry there, Inspector. Although if you would like to continue to impress me, I suggest a more private location.”

“Lead the way, Miss Fisher.”             

***

Phryne pressed a swift kiss to the corner of Jack’s mouth where is lip twitched upwards, then grabbed his hand and pulled him along behind her with a joyous laugh. They ran all the way up a flight of stairs and down a corridor, pausing occasionally to pull each other close, backing against walls, barely able to contain their need as greedy lips found exposed skin, beneath loosened collars.

It was a mercy they ran into no-one along the way. By the time they made it to Phryne’s bedroom she had commandeered Jack’s tie for her own nefarious purposes and he had opened her dressing gown far enough to let him palm her breasts through the thin silk of her pyjamas. The slamming of the door behind them had an irrevocability to it, they paused, slowing to catch their breath as the magnitude of the situation settled over them.

Phryne advanced towards Jack, her face full of tenderness and radiating a love, unspoken yet somehow tangible in the flickering glow of the old fashioned gas lamps that hung from the ceiling. Her hand – the one not holding his pilfered tie – rose up to trace his cheekbone, he shut his eyes at her touch, leaning into her caress to kiss her palm. His fingers trailed down her arm and he relished in the feel of the silk and the warmth of her body beneath it. As he reached her cuffs and began to tease the skin of her wrists Phryne took his hand in hers, the loose tangle of his tie running between them, binding them together.

Hand in hand, bodies pressed close, eyes locked together, they stepped out over the cliff and into freefall, and in all the years to come Phryne would never let Jack forget who was brave enough to admit it first, and he would always counter by claiming – with an insouciant inaccuracy which she found infuriatingly attractive – that he managed to resist her charms until she did.

“I love you, Jack Robinson.” It was the same tone of fearless and absolute certainty with which she had dared him to follow her.

Jack had to swallow down a lump in his throat at the sound of words he had never expected to hear from her. Lowering his mouth to hers he kissed her with everything he had, offering himself up to her, only breaking away to whisper over and over how much he loved her, against her lips, against the shell of her ear, the skin of her neck.   

Deciding it was long past time she got this maddening, ridiculous man naked, Phryne began working on his buttons, managing to remove his jacket and waistcoat in one move, whilst Jack attempted to distract her by taking her earlobe gently between his teeth and pressing hungry kisses into her neck.

His fingers found the tie of her dressing gown, which hit the floor with an uncompromising thwump, quite unlike the floating whisper of the garments she preferred in Melbourne. They backed towards the bed, shedding their final layers, both impatient to be together without barriers or ballast, the blazing touches of skin on skin leaving no room for apprehension or for second guesses.

Phryne collected her wits enough to remember her Dutch cap, ordinarily she would have departed to her bathroom, or at least behind her dressing screen to insert it – after all a lady needs to maintain an air of mystery – but she decided that right now speed was of the essence and slipped it inside herself without thought. There was an almost boyish innocence to the expression of wide eyed wonder and arousal on Jack’s face as he witnessed the sight, the first of many things he had never seen or done before.

On noticing his reaction, Phryne broke into a mischievous smile, lying back against the pillows and extending her hand towards him, palm down, as if demanding her knight errant grace it with a kiss. He matched her with a knowing smirk that almost reached his lips and went one better, taking her still wet fingers into his mouth and licking them clean. Her gasp of arousal and delighted surprise may have been the most glorious damned noise he’d ever heard in his life, although he was fairly sure she could improve on it. In order to test that theory, he advanced towards her, kissing his way up her legs, gazing up at her face through his long lashes, relishing the sight of her biting her bottom lip in anticipation.

The first press of his lips to her sex was so slow and soft she felt tears prick the corner of her eyes, her heart felt saturated with so much love she could hardly believe her chest could still contain it. Darling man. The feeling was replaced soon enough by a glowing heat which crackled up from her toes until she was shaking and clutching at the back of his head, holding him where she wanted him. Jack looked up at her again with hungry eyes, mesmerised by the sight of her pleasure, and slid two fingers inside her, building a climax that fogged her vision as she gasped out a jumbled mixture of praise and endearments and ‘ _Jack, Jack, Jaaaack’_ , repeated again and again as the orgasm washed over her. He smiled into the damp skin of her inner thigh as the fingers in his hair relaxed, he had been right, that had definitely been an improvement; it was possible they had heard her back in Melbourne.

He kissed his way back up to her lips, still smiling at her happy giggles of post-orgasmic bliss as she leaned in to press her lips to his.

“Hmm, I always suspected you had a talented mouth.”

“Really? And have I lived up to your expectations?”

“Well, you could use a little more practice, Inspector.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmhm, in fact, I may never let you leave this bed.”

“Am I to be your kept man then, Miss Fisher?”

“Oh yes, darling, I certainly intend to keep you.”

She rolled him onto his back and pushed him down onto the pillows, pressing tiny kisses to his lips and nipping gently at the skin of his neck, her hands wandering, exploring the taught muscles of his chest, seeking out his weak spots, delighting in every little sound of pleasure that escaped him.

“It occurs to me,” she whispered sweetly into a particularly sensitive spot on his lower abdomen, “that I have been a truly terrible hostess this evening.”

“I…I wouldn’t say that.” He gasped, hoping to encourage her to continue what she had been doing with her tongue, which had been extremely pleasant.

“It’s true, I even left your whiskey downstairs and I’m sure you would like a bath and some refreshment after your long journey.”

Her hands, which had been busy exploring the impressive topography of his thighs finally reached their goal and Jack bit back a curse as Phryne’s fingers first teased him, and then began to stroke in earnest.

“I’m sure you can think of some way to make it up to me.” He managed, holding on for dear life to the last shreds of his sanity.

The smile she directed at him was pure filth and desire, but although he made an educated guess at her intentions, when her lips and tongue joined her hands, licking and kissing the head of his cock as if she had never tasted anything so divine, he found himself utterly undone by the sensations that shot through him. It had been long enough since he had enjoyed any kind of physical intimacy, and this was like nothing he had ever experienced in his life.

 _“Oh good god.”_ He rasped out, his eyes rolling back in his head as she did something with her tongue that sent a shock of liquid fire shooting up his spine.

Phryne hummed in appreciation, teasing him with soft kisses down the length of his cock.

“Oh not even he can save you now, Jack,” she whispered, “I promise.”

He fully intended to stop her; he had plans, plans that involved finding out repeatedly, just how loudly she could be convinced to scream his name, but even his best laid plans had never been a match for Phryne Fisher on a mission. By the time her hands joined her mouth, one stroking in a steady rhythm along his shaft, the other gently massaging his balls, he had lost the ability to form words completely and could only pant out a series of inarticulate moans whilst clenching his hands in the bedsheets. When she took him in her mouth all the way to the back of her throat, he yelled out something that could have been a warning. Phryne ran a reassuring hand up the back of his shaking thigh and hummed in appreciation as he shattered in a blinding climax that left him boneless and completely lost for words.

Phryne licked the last remnants of his release from her lips, which were now forming the smuggest, most self-satisfied smile Jack had ever seen on her face, and he had been keeping score for quite some time. He felt he should apologise, spending in her mouth seemed somewhat less than gentlemanly and he worried that his lack of stamina might have been a disappointment, but before he could get the words out Phryne had swooped up to kiss him, deep and slow, letting him taste himself on her tongue. She pulled back far enough to press a soft kiss to the upturned tip of his nose, still looking endearingly pleased with herself.

“So, am I forgiven for my terrible shortcomings as a hostess?”

“Believe me, Miss Fisher, if that’s how you intend to make it up to me you need never offer me whiskey again.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. In fact, I think we could use a little refreshment. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back.”

Not giving him time to argue Phryne jumped up, a whirlwind of manic energy, slipping on her discarded dressing gown and blowing him a kiss over her shoulder as she exited the room, leaving Jack naked and still somewhat breathless in her bed. A situation she intended to replicate as often as possible.

The sweat had begun to dry on his forehead and Jack was feeling a little chilly despite the fire smouldering in the ornate iron fireplace on the far wall. He pulled the covers over himself, snuggling down into the soft pillows. He felt happy and satisfied, not to mention more than a little curious as to what Phryne might have in store for him next, but by the time she returned to the room carrying the whiskey and a plate of sandwiches on a tray, he had already drifted off into a content and dreamless sleep.

***

Jack woke to the magnificent sight of Phryne Fisher, stark naked and holding a plate of sandwiches. She was sat on the side of the bed, munching contentedly and apparently watching him. As he opened his eyes, she smiled and proffered the plate, her mouth still full.

“Thank you.”

He blinked the sleep from his eyes, rubbing his hands over his face before helping himself to a sandwich, it had after all been a very long day of travel on fairly meagre rations.

“The mustard pickle isn’t quite up to Mr Butler’s standard,” Phryne lamented, “but it’s quite passable.”

Jack hummed slightly in appreciation polishing the sandwich off in three bites, his tongue flicking out to lick the crumbs from his lips. Phryne set the plate down on the dresser by the bed and slid under the covers and into his arms. She reached up absently to muss his hair, drawing her fingers down his cheek, along the straight, stubborn line of his jaw.

“I’m afraid I’ve been something of a dull houseguest so far.” He apologised with a self-depreciating smile. “I didn’t plan on falling asleep quite so soon after my arrival.”

Never one to waste flattery unless she wanted something, Phryne let her eyes and the gentle caress of her fingers along the nape of his neck suffice for reassurance.

“Yes, appallingly dull, Inspector. You’ve been asleep for hours, leaving me with nothing to do but come up with interesting ways for you to redeem yourself when you finally decided to wake up.”

Jack glanced up at the clock on the mantle which read just shy of a quarter past nine.

“I’ve been asleep 45 minutes at the longest, you,” he couldn’t resist leaning in for a kiss as his hands began a thorough exploration of her rib cage, “are just impatient.”

“I think I’ve been admirably patient, given how long it took you to get here.”

There was perhaps a little more weight behind that statement than she had really intended to put there, she knew full well that she too had needed time to reach this place. In a softer voice she added.

“Jack…I’m very glad you’re here.”

“As am I, Miss Fisher.”

The hand on her ribcage slipped higher, cupping the underside of her breast. It was a luxurious, leisurely caress, a gentle reassurance that, no matter how long it had taken them to arrive at this place, they were here now, together, and had all the time in the world.

Phryne’s natural inclination to allow passion to run away with her was oddly muted. Having waited so long to get Jack into her bed, and having taken the edge off the initial tension of their reunion, she found herself wanting to draw out this moment, to savour it. She leaned in to kiss him, parting her lips, drawing him in, letting her fingers trace the ridges of his spine; the smooth, taught muscles of his back flexed slightly as his hands shifted from breasts, to hips, relishing the softness of her skin. She discovered the ticklish spot just beneath his ribs and the sound of his uncharacteristically high pitched laughter was a joy she was sure she would never forget – and nor would he if she had anything to do with it. His thorough exploration of her spine revealed that she would shiver and moan into his mouth when he traced a slow finger from its base to the hair at the nape of her neck.   

Their kisses grew more intense as their hands wandered lower, their mingled breaths and the taste of the other’s skin clouding their senses; time seemed to stretch and slow, every moment an eternity of perfect sensation and over much too soon. Jack rolled to his back pulling Phryne after him, wanting her to lead, to show him how to please her. She could sense his trepidation, although really there was no need for it; she almost felt nervous herself after having wanted him for so long. This moment was the stuff of her intimate fantasies – idle at first, she fantasised about many attractive men of her acquaintance - and then in more and more explicit detail as their partnership grew closer.

In her imaginings their first time had always been a frenzy, the tension between them that had been building for so long finally discharging in a blaze of passion. Now it was here, she found she wanted to slow down, to immerse herself in Jack’s kisses and the glorious feel of his hands on her hips as she pressed herself closer to him, rubbing the wet heat between her thighs over the thick length of his beautiful cock. Jack gasped aloud at the sensations which were engulfing every part of his body. It felt as if somehow the irrepressible life and energy Phryne brought to everything she did was pouring into him, causing an aching need for contact that had him squeezing the soft flesh of her backside as she rocked forward again and then sank slowly on to him. Their eyes met as they joined, breath shallow, all anxiety replaced by a torrent of overwhelming emotion at the perfect rightness of this moment. Serious faces gave way to knowing smiles as they began to move, pulsing together, finding synchronicity here as they did everywhere else.

Phryne was overwhelmed by waves of ecstasy that spread from her core to the ends of every limb, every part from her clenching, aching cunt to the nerveless ends of her hair and nails was singing in an exhilarating chorus, rising in pitch, peak after peak, never crashing down into the swirling chaos of climax. She wanted more, yet never wanted it to end. Jack found himself incredibly aware of every sensory detail, the way the light was glancing off Phryne’s perfect cheekbones, the sharp bite of her nails against his chest a tantalising contrast to the pleasure saturating his every cell. He couldn’t resist the urge to rise up on his elbows, taking her nipple between his teeth and batting it with the stiffened point of his tongue. The sound Phryne made when he did so was somewhere between a moan and a long, drawn out curse.

_“Fuuuuckk, oh god, Jaaack, fuuck!”_

He had never heard her curse before, and if there had been any space left in his head for surprise it might have shocked him just how arousing he found it. There was not, so he satisfied himself by switching to the other nipple in the hope that she would do it again.

_“Oh, god, oh god!”_

Close, but not quite what he had been after. He lifted his mouth to her ear, his confidence buoyed by Phryne’s very obvious enthusiasm. She felt as much as heard the deep rumble of his voice as he whispered.

“Such language, Miss Fisher. Is that any way for a lady to talk?”

She drew back and threw him a look of unadulterated sarcasm whilst doing something with her hips that he was fairly sure had permanently melted certain parts of his brain - it was a trade he was more than willing to make. The incongruous combination forced a laugh of sheer joy from somewhere deep in his chest and the added vibration made Phryne whimper softly, speeding up the movement of her hips and pushing them both down into the soft mattress, capturing his mouth in a dangerous kiss and nipping at his bottom lip. He responded by thrusting up harder, words tumbling out between kisses, somewhere between a plea and a command.

“Say…it…again.”

Phryne grinned, delighted at his boldness and more than happy to indulge him.

“Fuck...mmm…JAaak…fuck…so good.”

Phryne broke off to bite his ear, tracing the taught tendons in his neck with her tongue.

“Fuck me, Jack.”

It was most definitely a command and Jack almost came apart on the spot on hearing it, but managed to hold back through sheer force of will. He wasn’t about to refuse her. Rolling them over until she was on her back he took the lead, driving into her with more enthusiasm than finesse now as they both began to lose control. Phryne was gasping in short breathy moans and wrapping her legs tight around Jack’s waist to take him deeper, bucking her hips up hard as he thrust from above. The corners of her vision began to blur and her muscles clenched in indescribable pleasure as she came apart in his arms, tasting their mingled sweat on the soft skin of his neck as they tumbled together into blank, white void.

Jack had just enough presence of mind not to crush her as he collapsed, utterly sated, his limbs numb his brain still fizzing. He was not entirely sure his head was still attached. Phryne was humming satisfied endearments into his neck and shoulder, holding him inside her, arms clasped around his back. They lay quietly, enjoying the simple intimacy of this new physical connection whilst their hearts and breathing slowed and their bodies calmed. After a minute or so, Jack rolled them once again so he was on his back and Phryne was draped dramatically across his chest. She let out an indistinct murmur of satisfied contentment and nuzzled into his chest, shivering slightly as his fingers slipped along the sensitive skin of her outer thigh.

Jack reached over and pulled up the covers where they had fallen to the floor, wrapping them in a warm cocoon of blankets, before bending his head slightly to plant a tender kiss on Phryne’s lips, trying to give expression to a love and joy that seemed too big for words. She understood, smoothing the dampened hair from his forehead and tracing her hands ever so gently across his jaw. When he drew back her eyes were teasing, full of the untameable living energy which had drawn him to her – at times against his will and more often against his better judgement.

“I stand by my previous assertion.”

Jack raised a quizzical eyebrow at her.

“I am never letting you leave this bed.”

They both laughed, enjoying the strange familiarity of this new and unknown world.

“That might be a problem eventually,” he pointed out, “I did have to make a few deals with Russel St to get here.”

“Do you need to arrest me?” She asked wryly. Chasing her down as a fugitive and then clearing her name had been one of her more dramatic suggestions, included in her telegram after more whiskey than was good for her.

“No. Tempting a prospect as that might be.” He responded, with a slight and in Phryne’s opinion rather promising smile. “However you will need to return to Melbourne with me, your testimony will be required at both the Fletcher-Sanderson and Eugene Fisher trials. I convinced Russel St the cases might not make it through court without you.”

She beamed at him.

“Well done, Inspector. Of course it might take a while to convince me to leave, and travel at this time of year can be difficult, especially with the terrible weather we’ve been having. I couldn’t possibly fly us home.”

“Well neither case is scheduled to go to court for a few months and what with Sanderson’s connections I fully expect delays from his lawyers.”

Phryne nodded seriously.

“In that case it sounds like you should make the most of your free time. Perhaps, renewing your acquaintance with an ‘old friend’.”

His smirk was now pronounced and far too tempting. Phryne didn’t bother to resist and kissed it thoroughly for a few highly enjoyable moments. She stopped suddenly, pulling back in horror.

“Jack, my father doesn’t need to testify as well does he?”

Jack had looked slightly worried by her expression but relaxed visibly at her question and immediately made to reassure her.

“I suggested that a man of his age could not be expected to travel so far, especially so soon after making the trip by air, and as I’m here I can collect a detailed statement from him before I leave. Besides,” his expression became ever so slightly knowing around the eyes, “what with the outstanding warrant in Victoria for his gambling offences, I’m not sure he would make an especially credible witness.”

“Does that mean you’re under orders to arrest him?” she asked, trying to probe every angle until she worked out exactly how her father was about to make her life difficult once again.

“I don’t have that authority here, and arranging his extradition for a gambling charge seems somewhat excessive, far too much paperwork.”

“And, if I were to warn him that a return to Australia might not be in his best interests..?”

“That would be interfering in police business Miss Fisher, so if history is any guide, I would be utterly powerless to stop you.”

He tugged the corners of his mouth down, trying not to let his smile escape at the delight spreading across his partner’s face at this little conspiracy.

“Have I told you today how much I adore you, Jack Robinson?” she asked.

“I think you may have,” he dropped his voice slightly, “right after I started using my fingers.”

He tickled her ribs and she squirmed against him, her own hands seeking out recently discovered sensitive spots that made his eyes darken with intent.

“Not that I’d object to hearing it again.” He added, trying his luck.

She smiled enigmatically, not giving an inch now they were back to sparing with each other.

“Whiskey first,” she told him, sitting up and reaching over to the sandwich tray for their glasses, “then I get to see if I can make my noble Inspector swear like a sailor.”

He took his glass and raised it to her, “I look forward to it.”

The cut crystal clinked together in the firelight, and they did not leave the bed again for quite some time.          


End file.
